


The Little Bits of Love We Sow

by estelraca



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: Poe made it back to the Resistance despite everything, but there's been something not quite right in his head since Kylo Ren ripped the location of the map out of him.  When General Organa offers to help, Poe isn't going to turn her down.





	The Little Bits of Love We Sow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darktensh17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darktensh17/gifts).



> This was written for the Star Wars Mini-Exchange for darktenshi17, who wanted something with Poe Dameron. I absolutely adore the bond between Poe and Leia, and couldn't resist playing with it a little bit. I hope that you enjoy this!

_The Little Bits of Love We Sow_

Poe takes a moment to close his eyes, breathing in the familiar, moist air of Yavin 4.

He's home.

Well, as much of a home as a pilot and a member of the Resistance has.

( _You are nothing. You are a single grain of sand, insignificant, adrift in the emptiness—_ )

Pinching at the bridge of his nose, Poe forces himself to take several deep breaths. Whatever he did to his head in the crash of the TIE fighter, it's still acting up. There's a constant feeling of pressure that hasn't changed no matter what ship or planet he's on, and every once in a while the pressure flares up into pain. At least he hasn't forgotten his name or mission again, like he had when he first woke disoriented in the desert.

"Commander Dameron?" The woman who approaches him is perhaps eighteen, her Resistance uniform crisp and clean.

Poe smiles at her. He _could_ have left his ship with his father—he'd considered doing so. Kes Dameron would die before letting anyone take something the Resistance needed, especially something his son left in his keeping.

His father didn't need to be put in that position, though. Not that Yavin 4 is likely to be dangerous—right now, at least—but Poe prefers to let his father continue to enjoy his retirement and his Force-sensitive tree. This is a fight for Poe and his generation, their chance to earn and protect the peace that their parents struggled so hard to obtain.

(Poe would like to see his father, if he could, even if just for a brief moment. To rest in the shade of the tree that always seemed so calming, and see if it would make the pain and the _wrong_ that has been inside his head since Kylo Ren ripped the location of the map out of him ease back a bit, but there isn't time.)

The girl returns Poe's smile. "I have rendezvous coordinates for you and orders from General Organa to get there as soon as possible."

Poe nods. That's the other reason he had seen fit to leave his specialized X-wing with a more conventional Resistance group—it means less time lost getting back to the general and letting her know what's happened. "Am I cleared for taking _Black One_?"

"If you're certain you don't need to see a medic...?" The woman looks a bit uncertain.

( _You're weak. A twig, snapping and snarling under the boots of those better than you who will never even know they destroyed you—_ )

Poe waves a hand dismissively. "I've made it this far without crashing a ship; I can manage to get myself to the rendezvous, I think. I'll check in with medical there."

"Then you're clear to leave." The woman offers him a salute. "It was an honor to make your acquaintance, sir. I've heard a lot about you and your team."

The grin Poe graces her with now is even broader. "They're a good team. But we're nothing special. Just a bunch of people trying to do the right thing, like everyone else in the Resistance."

"And creating impressive customized X-wings while you do it." The woman's smile broadens in return. "And who, I'm told, is capable of flying anything with wings?"

"And probably a few things without." Poe shrugs. "Hey, it's not my fault the basic theories of aerodynamics and flying remain the same across different types of ships. But my ship...?"

"Fueled and ready to go." The woman clasps her hands behind her back. "We noticed your astromech seems to be missing, though. Do you require a replacement...?"

( _Friendship is such a fragile thing, breaking in the face of true power—_ )

"I'll be fine to get to the rendezvous, and we're going to be getting my droid back." Poe speaks with firm certainty. They _are_ going to get BB-8 back, and the map. It's just a matter of how and when.

( _She will be so disappointed when she sees how weak you are. How she could think you have anything in common with a Skywalker—_ )

Despite the renewed throbbing of pain at both temples, Poe manages not to list to the side as he makes his way to _Black One_ and up into the cockpit.

He'll meet up with General Organa and his squadrons. They'll come up with a plan. And they'll make the First Order pay for what they did on Jakku.

Poe won't let himself doubt that, no matter _what_ the pain seems to whisper in his ear every time it flares.

XXX

Poe's team finds him in medical.

He should have expected that, really. He's been off solo for long enough for them to notice, and he's come back missing BB-8. It's no wonder that Black Squadron wants to know what happened and see how many pieces he's in.

( _Every man is made of a thousand pieces, and it only takes the right pressure applied in the right place to watch him shatter, to—_ )

Really, Poe's lucky that it's only Black Squadron and not all of Blue and Red who are here, wanting to see how scrambled their commander's brain managed to become. As it is, he feels a little claustrophobic with Snap snapping his fingers, Jessika leaning against the wall at the head of the bed, Oddy hovering anxiously over the medic to look at data displays he clearly wishes were for something mechanical instead of biological, and Kun staring at him. For a moment he wonders why L'ampar isn't there; then he remembers the last battle with Terex, the cost of the map to Luke Skywalker, and has to close his eyes for a moment.

The medic looks around at Poe's squadron nervously. "If you'd like to wait for your status update..."

Poe smiles and waves a hand. "Don't worry. They'll just make up their own story if they don't hear what's really going on, so speak freely."

"Yes. Well." The Bimm's black-furred ears press against his skull. "As you wish. You definitely sustained concussive trauma to your central nervous system. It seems to have subsided to the point where I would hesitate to call it an actual concussion anymore, but you should still be careful for the next week or so."

Snap's fingers click together sharply. "Not our call to make. Though if the First Order wants to take a bit of a break..."

The medic makes a noncommittal noise. "I won't be grounding you, but I will be forwarding your medical report to General Organa per her request. Other than the head injury there's the usual contusions, as well as painful but minimally dangerous damage usually associated with First Order interrogation methods."

Jessika straightens, eyes flicking from Poe to the Bimm. "Interrogation?"

( _You will give me what I want. You will_ always _give what I want, because your life is a tiny, fragile thing that I can twist between my fingers—_ )

"Debriefing with the general first." Poe tries to keep his tone light, his face neutral. "Then I'll tell you all about it. Promise."

The medic gives his furred head a small shake. "You're free to report to the general. Stop back by here once you're done to pick up medications."

Poe doesn't need further encouragement. Hopping off the medical cot, he gives his team a little salute before heading for General Organa's office.

Hopefully he hasn't managed to disappoint her _too_ badly with how he's botched the mission.

XXX

Poe makes his report as succinct and honest as he can, knowing that's how General Organa likes them. She'll ask him for more details about what she thinks is important.

(He failed. He couldn't save Lor San Tekka for her. He couldn't stop the massacre. He couldn't keep the map's location safe. He couldn't find BB-8 without help. He failed. _Destined to fail, as all who stand against the untrammeled power of the Force will—_ )

"Sit down, Commander Dameron." General Organa gestures to the chair sitting just a foot or so to Poe's right. Her eyes are bright, her brow crinkled with concern. "Before you fall down. I _will_ pick you up off the floor, but I'd prefer not to have to."

Poe moves to the chair, surprised at how unsteady his whole body feels. He's used to having a good sense of coordination. Being in control of his body helps him better control his X-wing, and on some of Black Squadron's more interesting missions being able to fight has been the difference between life and death. He's been able to handle himself with worse injuries, in more difficult circumstances.

His head is aching, a feeling like someone pounding metal rods into both his temples making it hard to focus. At least sitting down makes it a little easier for him to parse out what parts of his system aren't working right, and he manages to calm his breathing from a harsh pant to a more reasonable level. "Sorry. I don't... I'm not sure what happened there, sir."

"I think I know, but I'll save my suppositions for the moment." Opening a drawer in her desk, the general pulls out two glasses and a bottle of clear liquid. "How about a drink? Nothing the medics would complain about, I promise."

"Anything you think is a good idea, sir, I'm game to try." Poe smiles. If General Organa's offering him a drink, she can't be _too_ furious with him.

"You do have a tendency to jump off cliffs, either because you're pretty certain you've got something that will let you fly or just because you think it's the right thing to do." A fond smile touches the general's lips as she pours liquid into both glasses, sliding one towards Poe. "Take a drink and a few deep breaths. Then I'm going to ask some more questions."

Picking up the glass obediently, Poe takes a tentative sip. Whatever it is, it tastes _good_ , slightly sweet but with a stinging quality that keeps it from being overpowering. If there's alcohol in it, Poe can't taste it. "I'll answer anything you want in as much detail as you want."

"I know." There's something almost sorrowful in the general's voice as she takes a sip herself. "You said that the one leading the First Order on Jakku was Kylo Ren. And that he used techniques that were definitely Force-powered."

"It was definitely Kylo Ren, and he definitely used the Force." Poe's fingers tighten around his glass, and he forces them to relax. "I should have been able to kill him. Before he massacred the village... my shot was good, but he _caught_ the bolt somehow. Stopped it in midair. Caught _me_. I wanted to fight, but I... couldn't do anything."

If not for what came later, Poe would be tempted to say that was the most terrifying thing he's ever experienced. To _want_ to move, to _need_ to move, to be commanding his body to move and _know_ that there was nothing stopping him but still _not be able to resist—_

Poe takes another drink and a few more deep breaths. He knows the Force is real. Both his parents believe, and they do have their special tree. Just because he couldn't see or sense what it was holding him doesn't mean there was _nothing_ there, and it's not Poe's fault Kylo Ren has access to abilities that Poe doesn't. Just like Poe doesn't consider his lack of spikes compared to a Nikto a failing, he can't consider his lack of Force sensitivity a failing. All it means is he'll have to take it into account next time he ends up face-to-face with Kylo Ren.

( _The Force is everything. Someone like you, who holds such a paltry connection to it—_ )

"You left the map with your droid."

The general's voice is sharp and clear—not angry, just... _solid_ , and Poe is able to fend off the spike of pain with a minimum of difficulty. Nodding, he takes another drink. "I gave BB-8 the map and told him to leave. To keep it safe. He'll do it. So we just need to send a team to Jakku to find him, and—"

"But Kylo Ren took that information from you. Meaning the First Order might already have the droid."

Though Organa speaks in the same voice from before, this time Poe flinches. He's _good_ at withstanding interrogation techniques. He did fine before Kylo Ren entered the picture. He should have managed to say something, _anything_ , other than the truth. But it had been like there were fingers digging through his mind, clawing through his memories, rending him apart from the inside and the outside at the same time, and he couldn't—

He _can't_ , it's still inside him, still _in his head_ , carried with him everywhere he goes, and—

He failed he _failed_ General Organa trusted him and—

Fingers latch hard around his wrist, and Poe finds that he's leaning forward, his head practically resting on the general's desk, his breath a ragged gasp in his throat. Leia Organa is standing, watching him with that same wise, sorrowful expression she wore before, and he needs to get himself together.

Sitting up is easier than he was afraid it would be. The general's hand around his wrist seems to... ground him, somehow, pushing the throbbing pain away when it tries to surge. He gives a little surreptitious tug of his arm, feeling more than a bit foolish, but he can't deny that he's grateful the general doesn't let go. "I'm sorry, General. I'm not sure—medical said I had a concussion, from when I crashed the TIE. That's still no excuse for this kind of behavior."

"It would be, actually. Misfiring neurons excuse most types of behavior." The general's fingers continue to hold Poe's wrist tight, and warmth seems to spread up and down his arm from where she's touching him. "But that's not what this is, I don't think. I... have some experience with interrogation, Commander Dameron. Including experience with being Force-interrogated."

Poe gives a tiny nod, not quite daring to move, _certainly_ not daring to comment. The General doesn't talk about her past, as a general rule—especially not about how her biological father was Darth Vader. Given how that information was used against her politically, Poe doesn't blame her.

"The Force has two sides. Light and dark. Just like most people, really." The general's eyes have shifted to stare down at her desk top. "To tear information out of an unwilling victim... that's dark side all the way. The way of anger, and hatred, and jealousy, and _power_ above all else. Having something like that shoved into your mind... it can leave a mark. Especially if the person doing the torturing wants it to." Something like fury flashes in General Organa's eyes.

"You faced down Darth Vader himself, sir, at the height of his power." Poe doesn't bother to keep the awe from his voice as he looks up at the woman who has been his hero since before he can remember—this woman his parents both revered. "And if anyone were to try to say that you're anything like him, or that he imprinted anything on you during that torture session... well, sir, the _nicest_ thing I could call them would be an idiot."

Organa smiles, and there's a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I didn't need Darth Vader to teach me anger. It comes of being a decent person in a broken universe. What I needed was my father—Bail Organa—to teach me how to channel and harness that anger to useful purposes."

"But you think what Kylo Ren did to me..." Poe swallows, trying to keep his expression neutral and not let the fear that lurches up like acid inside him show in voice or face. How do you fight something you can't even recognize? How do you fight something that feels like _yourself_?

"I think he saw that I trust you, and I think that made him want to hurt you even more." The general closes her eyes, and Poe doesn't think he's ever seen anyone look so weary and worn. When she opens them again a moment later, though, there's nothing but steel and starlight shining back at Poe, as there always is. "I think he wanted you to slowly fall apart, and me to blame myself. But you're stronger than he gave you credit for, and I'm not an idiot or completely unaware of the flow of the Force. I see what's been done, and I think—if you'd let me—I can help you."

Poe stares at his commander, throat working but not managing to produce any sounds.

"I understand if you don't want me to." The general's voice is gentle, for a moment—perhaps the most gentle Poe's ever heard it. "I'm not my brother. Luke only taught me a fraction of what I should probably know because I was so busy with everything else. And you've gotten through something traumatic and invasive. I won't force you to accept my help. But—"

"I trust you." Poe straightens as much as he can in his chair. He considers standing up, but he can easily imagine the way General Organa would look down at him like he's an idiot if he stood up and immediately fell down. "I trust you more than I'd trust your brother, General. If you think there's something you can do to help make this... whatever it is inside my head better, please do."

"All right." Letting go of his wrist, the general moves around her desk, taking another guest chair and turning it to face Poe. She smiles as she holds out both her hands. "This might take a few tries. Calm and meditative isn't always my strong suit."

"It doesn't have to be. Sometimes passion is just as important." Poe shrugs. "Aren't those the stories people like most about your brother, anyway? The ones where he runs off on crazy rescue missions and things like that?"

Leia smiles again, moving her open hands a little closer to Poe in a clear gesture of invitation. "There's definitely something to be said for passion."

Poe gingerly places both his hands in hers, palm against palm, feeling as though he's being too forward. "It's what kept the rebellion going. What's keeping the Resistance going."

"What keeps _you_ going." General Organa's hands are warm as they take a firm grasp of Poe's. "You have so much passion, Commander Dameron. You want so desperately for the universe to be _right_."

"It _can_ be. It _should_ be." The warmth seems to spread up his arms, comforting, familiar, and Poe finds himself closing his eyes as he sinks into it. "We have so much that's amazing. Just look at what an X-wing can _do_ , where it can take us... to have that kind of power and then squander it murdering each other..."

( _Your X-wing is a weapon of war, beautifully crafted to destroy both in the air and on the ground. To want it to be anything else—_ )

The warmth surges forward as General Organa tightens her fingers, and the stabbing pain fades back a little. "You're a brave man and a good man, son of good, brave people. You'll charge in no matter what the danger if you think you need to—if you think you can make a difference, or help stop an atrocity. I chose you for a reason, Poe Dameron. I _trust_ you for a reason."

( _You will disappoint her—disappoint all of them. You will never be enough. You will—_ )

General Organa's voice rises, and there is fire in it, _determination_ , an unquenchable flame that Poe would follow to the end of time and back. "Your _teams_ trust you. They follow you for a reason. They congregate around you for a reason. Remember them. Remember their trust."

It's not hard to do. He trusts them as much as they trust him, after all. They keep each other alive. They keep each other _sane_ in this galaxy that seems to be slowly unraveling. They come to him when he's hurt, are angry on his behalf, want to _help_ in any way that they can, and he does the same for them.

"There's power in the Dark Side, but there's just as much power in the light. The Force connects all living things. The Force _is_ connection, and you're very, very good at making those connections." General Organa's voice seems to fill the whole world. "Focus on them. _Feel_ for them. The living and the dead, everyone you've ever loved and who's ever loved you, touch that bond. Reweave _Poe Dameron_ , and leave out all that pathetic bastard tried to burn into you."

There is something wrong in the way she says _pathetic bastard_. There is too much sorrow in the words for them to be a true curse—too much _guilt_. Poe doesn't have time to focus on that, though, because the world explodes in _light_ as though someone turned on a holodisplay right underneath him.

He sees his mother. He hears her loud, beautiful laugh as she swings him up into the air, pointing at the stars and explaining all that they are and all that they mean.

He sees his father. He feels the combination of love and sadness that was his mother's death tinging their relationship, and then finds himself wrapped in a low, soothing, uninterrupted sea of warmth as his father's pure determination and affection continue unabated through the years.

He falls, except it's not falling it's _flying_ , and he's once more in the midst of Rapier Squadron. Oh, yes, he knows that the Force connects all living things, regardless of whether they feel it or not. All anyone has to do is be part of a well-functioning unit, be it of pilots or fighters or builders, to know that there is _something_ binding together each member, making them stronger than they would be alone.

Rapier Squadron's bonds yield before those of Blue and Red Squadron, each holding a slightly different feel, each perfect in its own way. Each _respecting_ him, but not in the distant, cold way some commanders require of their subordinates. Poe is lucky. To be a fighter pilot is to be on the front lines, and the respect he gets is the respect one gives to someone who is taking the same risks as you, just with more responsibility.

And Black Squadron. _His_ squadron, his hand-picked unit that did what needed to be done.

There is a gap in the squadron, still, where L'ampar used to slot in. Except... it's not an _empty_ gap. There is still light there, still all the years of love and devotion that L'ampar showed to Poe and his family. It's just... softer now, harder to see unless one is looking for it.

Snap, Jessika, Kun, Oddy—he _knows_ them, and they know _him_ , and they would know that the voice that accompanies the pain spikes doesn't belong to him.

And if something isn't right, doesn't belong, then it needs to go.

It's harder than it should be, Poe thinks. The doubts and the fears and the accusations don't _want_ to leave. They want to twine deeper into him, sinking in roots, becoming more vicious and vindictive as they invade all that he is.

Another thread flares bright, and Poe sees the storm-trooper who never had a name. A young man willing to do anything, to risk whatever wrath would come his way, to escape being the monster he was made to be.

If Finn could get up and walk away from the First Order, Poe can definitely burn away whatever poison Kylo Ren tried to seed him with.

There's no sudden thunderclap, no explosion of light. There's just a slow, gradual lessening of the disorientation and pain in his head, a brightening of the web of connections.

Poe doesn't know how long he's been sitting, slack-jawed and eyes-closed like an idiot, when General Organa clears her throat. "How do you feel now, Commander?"

Pulling himself up and out of the chair, Poe falls into a semblance of military attention and snaps out a salute. "Much better, General."

Organa smiles, and for just a moment Poe thinks he can feel a thread between them, too—of mutual respect, of shared cause, of shared _dreams_.

"I'm glad." Levering herself to her feet, General Organa returns to her own seat. "We'll do what we can to get the map back, hopefully before the First Order does, but if we need to—"

The general's intercom hums. Holding up one hand to keep Poe where he is, she answers it. "Yes?"

"High priority message from someone identifying themselves as Han Solo, sir." The voice on the other end of the line is eager. "Says he has the droid and the map and wants to deliver them. We have coordinates."

"Initiate orders to get the fleet to that location as quickly as possible." General Organa's whole body seems to stiffen with anticipation as she gives the order. Snapping the intercom off, she looks up at Poe. "You feel up to mustering your squadrons? If we have this information, the First Order might, too."

Poe snaps off another salute. He feels better than he has since the massacre on Jakku, burning with energy and purpose, and a fight with the First Order is definitely something he's up for. "Nothing would make me happier."

"Go to it, then. I've got a resistance to run." Settling down at her desk, General Organa snaps the intercom back on.

Poe doesn't wait for further dismissal.

He has his place, and the general has hers, and together with all the other shining stars of hope out there in the universe they _will_ make a better future for those who come next.

XXX

Leia watches Poe leave from the corner of her eye. It doesn't take much skill with the Force to see that he's better, now. The dark tendrils that had wrapped around him, attempting to stifle the bright light he emits, are gone now. The only traces of the Dark Side he carries are the ones all veterans carry—the inevitable scars of a life spent taking other lives, even for the best of reasons.

She and Luke will always bear those scars, those traces of darkness, though she thinks her brother didn't have them carved quite as deep into him before...

Before her son massacred his fellow pupils.

Before both their hopes of a better, brighter future began tearing at the seams, revealing the underlying cesspit that they hadn't actually been able to drain.

Closing her eyes, Leia forces herself to take deep breaths. She can't let herself think like that, even for a moment. Especially given what she just saw.

Poe trusted her. Even after what happened, after the wounds he carried, he opened himself up to her without any hesitation. He let her see the weft and web of connections that make him _Poe Dameron_ , ace pilot and beloved commander.

He let her show _him_ that weft and web, let her guide him as he remembered who he is, and Leia is truly grateful for the honor.

One day good people won't be fighting and dying to keep the universe safe, but until then she can at least rest assured that there _are_ good people.

Good people who are counting on her to help them counter the threat at their door... a threat that is at least partially of her making.

For the thousand useless time she wonders where things went so wrong with Ben. Was it something she did? Something Han did? Something Luke did? Some outside influence that she still hasn't tracked down? How did her beautiful child become a vengeful, power-seeking young man who willfully eschews empathy in favor of despotism? A man who worships Darth Vader when the monster was everything Anakin Skywalker would have hated—was everything Anakin Skywalker eventually _rejected_ , if Luke is even halfway right in his recollections of the man's last minutes?

She doesn't know. Is this the Force's way of punishing her for never quite accepting that Darth Vader redeemed himself in the end?

No. She knows that's not how the Force works. Poe just _showed_ her how the Force works, when it's not being manipulated for dark ends, and she's seen it on her own and with Luke and with a dozen other people.

She still sometimes thinks she can feel Ben in the Force, torn between the light and the dark, but is that just wishful thinking?

There isn't time to dwell on it right now. There's a droid to rescue; there's her brother to find; there's possibly a reunion with Han very shortly. There's a Resistance to run, and a future to try to keep reaching determinedly towards.

And there are a thousand points of light to help her do it, brave young people like Poe Dameron sowing a fierce, powerful, universe-changing love in their wake.

For now, it gives her what she needs to keep going, and that's all she can ask.


End file.
